Ashbourne
by LadyRoquiesha
Summary: A "Jekyll and Hyde" fanfic. By a strange twist of fate, Dr. Jekyll and Lucy Harris get a second chance. *new chapter posted!*
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
It had been well over a year since I had been transformed into Edward Hyde, the essence of all evil within me, when an even stronger demon had paralyzed me: guilt. I found that my every waking hour saw me submerged in a raw, mind-numbing pain that was absolutely merciless. Somehow, it seemed that God had decided to punish me for trying to control forces that were beyond human comprehension. My original intention was not to defy God at all, but my simple calculations quickly degenerated into a power not within my - or anyone's - grasp.   
  
Even though I had miraculously cheated death by the hand of my best and most trusted friend, John Utterson, I felt strongly in the days slowly leading up to that warm May evening when I learned about Ashbourne that I should have died. I had to live forever with the knowledge that I, Henry Jekyll, was responsible for the deaths of eight people. Eight! The number rang through my head, constantly tormenting me. Under the guise of Hyde, I had murdered each member of the Board of Governors of St. Jude's Hospital, unleashing the basest form of the rage and contempt toward their hypocrisy that I had long suppressed.   
  
  
And then there was Lucy. For those cruel eighteen months, I tried to reason with myself that I did not kill her. Yet whenever the thought entered my mind, my hands trembled as I remembered violently snapping into consciousness and finding her blood on my hands...and seeing her lying there. I was too terrified to confirm that she was dead. If I had tried to save her, I would most certainly be implicated in her death. My reputation as a human being, professional reputation aside, would be ruined. I could not do that to Emma...dear Emma...   
  
Emma and I were indeed married a month after I recovered from the wound I received during our disastrous first ceremony. I still have a rather large scar on my right side from the incident. Life gradually eased back into a normal rhythm, and we were happy. A couple of weeks after the wedding, Emma kept dropping hints about wanting children. The concept was a disconcerting one. Emma's mother had died while giving birth to her. As much as I wanted to become a father, I felt it was not worth risking Emma's life. Emma kept begging, and I couldn't resist. Within a month, she was pregnant.   
  
I began reading all I could about childbirth, and I consulted with the doctors in the maternity ward at St. Jude's. They simply laughed at my suggestion of possible alternate procedures. I was determined that everything would go as smoothly as possible, but the only thing I could do was leave everything in the hands of the doctors. I had never helped to deliver a child before, so I could not be there in any capacity other than as support for Emma.   
  
I was a bundle of nerves from the moment I knew Emma was with child, but she was not scared at all. She kept saying these bizarre cryptic things to me as we discussed the medical procedure. "This is all for the best, Henry," she would whisper. "This is the way things are supposed to be." When I asked her about her strange statements, she simply flashed her bright, innocent smile and said, "I'm not sure, Henry. It just felt like what I should say."   
  
The day came much earlier than anyone predicted. It was a hot afternoon in July. I rushed Emma to St. Jude's, and she was admitted immediately. I had feared that there would be a lot of people in the hospital, as there normally were during the warmer days of the summer. After being in labor for four hours, Emma's temperature rose to over 100 degrees. As I began to leave the room to consult with Emma's physician, Dr. Thompson, she began to cry. "Don't leave me, Henry," she said between sobs.   
  
"I must speak with the doctor, darling," I assured. "I'll be back in a matter of seconds."   
  
"No!" she cried. "Stay with me, Henry." The urgent look in her eyes kept me by her side despite my protests.   
  
I took her delicate hand in mine. She smiled up at me weakly. "Things will be all right, Henry," she said in a soft whisper.   
  
"Yes, my angel," I replied. "They will."   
  
"I love you, Henry," she murmured. "Please be happy."   
  
Emma's eyes suddenly had this tired, weary look. She began to moan.   
  
A swarm of nurses rushed into the room, assessing the situation. One placed a cool cloth upon Emma's forehead. Another took her temperature. Emma continued to cry out in pain.   
  
"Daddy!" she began to scream. "Daddy!" Sir Danvers Carew, her father and my former superior, rushed into the room.   
  
"I'm here, darling," he said with assurance. He took hold of Emma's other hand and stroked it gently. "I love you."   
  
"I love you, Daddy," she whispered almost inaudibly. She slowly closed her eyes. Her hand went cold. Sir Danvers began to weep. I placed an understanding hand upon his shoulder.   
  
In a way, I was almost glad Emma did not live to see what happened. The miscarriage would have killed her spirit.   
  
After Emma died, the most unbearable pain came not from the guilt of Hyde's terrible deeds but from something even more powerful. For seven months I had tried to progress with my normal life. I continued my regular practice. I made the occasional house call. I lived the normal life of a doctor, or so everyone presumed. If only the world did know everything! I hope someday that they do, so that my life's efforts shall not have been in vain. I hope that someday, doctors with more influence and knowledge than I will, for example, discover alternate methods of childbirth. Had my medical opinion been trusted by my colleagues, my wife and child would be alive today. It is my sincerest wish that the politics of common thought and society will someday be separated from the field of medicine. If this ever happens, it will allow advancement of the greatest order to be achieved.   
  
As I look back upon this dark time of my life, I begin to notice the most curious irony of life, one that took me an unbearably long time to learn: If you leave things in God's hands, instead of taking them into your own, everything sorts itself out in the end.  
  
To be continued...  
(Please R/R! Thanks!)   



	2. For all these years, I've faced the worl...

chapter 1  
"How about Cornwall, Henry?" John asked absently as he glanced through a pile of travel brochures. Being the only other soul who knew my full elaborate story, John remained a staunchly devoted friend even during my most dangerous moments. Many times, despite his proper English rigidity, John found himself trying to pull me out of my gloomy stages in extremely improper ways...most memorably, by dragging me to the East End that night, not too long ago, when I first met Lucy.  
  
This time, however, John's plans were a little less sordid. He suggested that I accompany him on holiday. "A change of locale will do you nothing but good, Henry," he remarked casually over tea a few earlier. After I reluctantly agreed, John began planning this little excursion.  
  
"Henry?" John inquired again, hoping for a response.  
  
I snapped out of my reverie. "Yes, John?" I replied.  
  
"How does Cornwall sound?" John asked dryly. From the tone of the question, Cornwall sounded perfectly dreary. That was typical of John, though. Zero visible enthusiasm for anything at all. So, I answered him back with equally banality.  
  
"Fine, I suppose," I said.  
  
"This pamphlet tells about all of the different attractiosn along the Cornish coast," John remarked with the energy of a snail. "Some of these little seaside towns sound rather interesting. There's one called Ashbourne that sounds very nice indeed."  
  
"Ashbourne," I echoed. "I've never heard of the place."  
  
"Neither have I," John continued. "According to this, it's beautiful. Right on the sea. Even the local pub sounds intriguing." He handed the brochure in question over to me. Despite my waning interest,  
I unconsciously began to read the description aloud.  
  
"While visiting Ashbourne, be sure to visit Lucinda's Garden, or 'The Garden' as it is affectionately referred to by local residents. A great place for food and entertainment, 'The Garden''s name is derived from the gorgeous, meticulously kept walled garden that adjoins the building and for its equally beautiful proprietress, Miss Lucinda Harris, or Lucy as she is known to - " I froze midsentence. Surely I did not read that right, I thought to myself. Lucy Harris? Lucy Harris was dead. I - Hyde, rather - had killed her. All of this ran through my mind as I tried to make sense of what I had just read.  
  
"Impossible," I stammered. "Simply impossible, John...she's...she's..." Sweat began to trickle down my forehead at the implications of this unbelievable scenario.  
  
"I hate to seem obvious, Henry," John interrupted," but there certainly is the possibility that there is more than one Lucy Harris in the whole of England."  
  
I shook my head. "John, I think I need to investigate this. If it is her...my God..." I buried my head in my hands.  
  
John stood up and stretched. "Well, then," he yawned, "I suppose we're going to Ashbourne." He placed his tall felt hat carefully atop his head and headed towards the front door. "Good night, Henry." His voice echoed faintly as he slammed the door shut.  
  



	3. If I could reach you, I'd guide you and ...

chapter 2  
Two weeks and five days later, we were indeed on our way to Ashbourne. John had booked us passage to Penzance on the "Over-Night Special" - a train that departs from London at 1:45 A.M. Because of the ungodly hour of departure, the rates were supposedly half price. Being the zealous spendthrift that he is, this thrilled John to no end.  
  
From Penzance, we took a cab to Ashbourne. The clean sea breeze almost made me giddy. John slept peacefully for the duration of the hour-long drive. I could not sleep. My imagination ran rampant with fanciful visions of the coming week's events. Dozens of questions lacking answers lingered in the early morning air. If it really was Lucy, where would I begin? Should I tell her the truth? If I tell her the truth, will she despise me?  
  
"We're here," the driver called back to us. The cab suddenly came to a halt. I looked out of the window anxiously. A square sign carved out of wood bearing the words "Locksheed Inn" hung conspicuously over the entrance of a three-story building.  
  
"Henry?" John whispered drowsily.  
  
"We're in Ashbourne, John," I replied.  
  
"What time is it, Henry?" he asked.  
  
I pulled my watch out of my front jacket pocket. It was 5:33 A.M. "A little after half past five," I said.   
  
"A trifle early to pay a visit to Lucinda's Garden, then." John smiled. "Sorry, Henry."  
  
I grinned back as I opened the door of the carriage and stepped outside. "In the meantime, I'm going to attempt to sleep." I knew I wouldn't, but the sentiment silenced John anyhow.  
  



	4. Will I see the world through different e...

Chapter 3  
  
After spending about four hours in a state of semi-sleep, I forced myself to get up. It was difficult. A sick feeling of anticipation gnawed at me. I was haunted by my memories of Lucy, which were as vivid as when they occurred. They were tiny fragments - short, indelible snatches of time. Not one recollection lasted longer than five minutes. I would sometimes find myself enveloped in a bitter sort of remembrance. Tiny fragments quickly compounded, and weaved themselves together to create a damning tableau of pain and pleasure made manifest in flashes of heat and light.  
  
Breakfast was a pleasant surprise. I had become so accustomed to Poole's standard ham, eggs, and porridge that the presence of fresh fruit and bread was a welcome one. Despite his dedication to his duties, Poole was not what one would term a "world-class" chef. I did not mind, though. I am very easy to please when it comes to food.  
  
Breakfast also afforded me the opportunity to meet the innkeeper's wife, a soft-spoken young woman named Charlotte Allensworth. She had pale ivory skin that indicated a mild case of anemia, and grey-green eyes that mirrored the tint of the sea. She attempted to keep her long sandy-colored hair pinned to her head, but strands of it continually fell in her face during our conversation.  
  
"What kind of medicine do you practice, Dr. Jekyll?" she asked politely.  
  
"General medicine," I said between sips of tea. "I run a private practice from my home on Harley Street in London, but I spend most of my time at St. Jude's Hospital."  
  
"How fascinating!" she exclaimed in earnest. "It's an honor to have you here, Doctor."  
  
I smiled in embarassment. "Thank you," I said as humbly as I could. "I am very happy to be here."  
  
"What brings you to Ashbourne, Dr. Jekyll? That is, if you don't mind my asking, of course."  
  
"Not at all," I asserted. I tried to respond in such a fashion that it would arouse little interest. "I came to visit a dear friend."  
  
Unfortunately, my efforts to seem nonchalant did not affect Mrs. Allensworth. "A friend? It's highly likely that it's a mutual one. Everyone knows everyone in Ashbourne."  
  
"Well, perhaps you know mine. Lucy Harris?" I asked, hesitantly.  
  
She looked up from the tablecloth she had dutifully begun to wipe off. "Yes," she said very directly. "We all know her very well. She's a sort of celebrity around here. How strange! She's never mentioned you before. I didn't know that she had such distinguished friends in London, but it doesn't surprise me. She's quite extraordinary.  
  
"Yes," I agreed. "Quite." 


	5. I need to know...

Chapter 4   
  
The combination of the comfortable pace of coastal living and my anticipation made the day pass  far too slowly.  John amused himself by visiting the local library.  I, however, could not bring myself to do anything productive.  I sat in the front parlor of the inn, making conversation with various townsfolk.   
Around teatime, I was introduced  to a young man named Frederick Hewitt.  He quickly informed me that he was a student at Oxford, studying medicine.  We engaged in a friendly debate about ethics and science.  Impressed  by his sincerity, I gave him my card and offered him an apprenticeship should he choose to move to London.     
He laughed ruefully.  "I would be honored, Dr. Jekyll," he said, "but I'm not entirely sure that I want to move to London.  You see, that  would force me to make a choice that I'm not certain I can make."   
I was intrigued.  "What sort of choice?"  I asked.   
He cleared his throat.  "Well..."  He looked around cautiously, making sure he wasnt within earshot of anyone.  After he had ascertained  that his secret was safe, he continued.  "At the urging of my parents, I began to court this girl named Elizabeth. Her father's a prominent barrister, as is mine.  I enjoy her company immensely, she's very pretty...and her parents want us to marry.  But..." he paused, as if he was preparing to confess the wickedest sin, "...I've met this girl here.  Her name is Veronica, and she's Elizabeth's opposite in every way.  She's got dark hair that falls down her back...Elizabeth has fair hair that she wears pinned up..." He began to get flustered.  "As much as I care about Elizabeth...Veronica...makes me feel...like...I can't explain.  But Veronica has no wealth, no title, no prospects.  She works at the Garden...that's the local pub..." He suddenly looked terribly guilty.  "Please don't tell anyone.  I'm living with my aunt for the summer, and if she were to find out what I've been doing and who I've been associating with, she'd tell my parents.  I can't let that happen."   
I smiled. "No, you can't.  I promise to stay silent...under one condition..."   
His guilty expression turned into one of bemusement.  "What sort of condition?" he inquired.   
"Accompany me to the Garden,"  I commanded.  "I have a Veronica of my own to meet.   
Frederick smiled a knowing smile as we headed outside.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. I must put aside the fears I feel inside...

A/N: Thanks to everybody who has reviewed thus far...sorry it's taken me so long, senior year's hassle, let me tell you. :-) Also, I forgot to mention this earlier - none of these characters belong to me. Dr. Henry Jekyll and (with him, as always) John Utterson are the creation of Robert Louis Stevenson. Lucy Harris and the chapter titles are the property of Frank Wildhorn and Leslie Bricusse. I have gotten nothing other than pure enjoyment (and the occasional sleep deprivation) from writing this story, no infringement intended. All right, now that I've gotten that out of the way, on with the show...  
  
  
After strolling inconspicuously across the street, Frederick and I found ourselves in front of the Garden. I stopped dead in my tracks, mentally preparing myself for the experience to come. What sort of place would Lucy become the proprietress of? I wondered silently. A restaurant? A pub? A cabaret? A...brothel?   
A gentle nudge from Frederick propelled me through the front door. What I saw was far from what I expected. The Garden was not, as I feared, an exact copy of the putrid Red Rat at all. In fact, I had never seen a place so remarkably different from the Red Rat. I looked around in utter delight. The Garden looked more like an oversized parlor than a seedy pub. At the various tables neatly positioned around the room, entire families dined. In the back corner of the room, a group of well-dressed young gentlemen were engaged in a thoughtful discussion. None of these people seemed to take notice of my young companion or myself. I shook my head in disbelief. This forum for thought and family entertainment was the brainchild of Lucy Harris?  
Frederick led me to an unattended bar made of polished cherry wood. I sat down hesitantly, trying to mask my trepidation. The confrontation to come would be one of the most difficult of my life. I could feel it.  
My efforts to appear nonchalant must have failed miserably, for Frederick sensed my tension. "Relax, dear fellow," he said, smirking. "I've never known any of these girls to meet someone they didn't like."   
I nodded tersely.  
"This girl of yours must be an intimidating job, the way you're acting...Ron!"  
His assessment of my manner was interrupted as a pretty young girl with jet-black hair and honey-colored eyes approached the bar. She was dressed to the nines - a dress of impeccable lilac silk was accented by a shiny gold locket that hung around her neck. I didn't feel any need to ask what that locket contained. Her appearance caused Frederick to smile so broadly that it bordered on the embarrassing.  
However, when she began to speak, a completely different person from the one that appeared before us managed to emerge. A type of person I recognized.   
"'Ello, love," the girl purred. "And 'ow are you doin' this beautiful evenin'?"  
Frederick stood and wrapped his arms around her waist.  
"Considerably better, now that I'm with you," he beamed back.  
Before I could clear my throat to remind Frederick of my presence, the girl gave me an inquisitive glance and spoke.  
"And who do you think you are, Freddie, bringing a friend and not introducing us properly?" She narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion.  
Frederick blushed. "Sorry, darling. It is my honor to introduce you to Dr. Henry Jekyll, of London. Dr. Jekyll, this is Veronica White."  
I extended my hand. "It is a pleasure, miss."  
"The pleasure is all mine, Doctor. And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company tonight?" she asked politely.  
"Actually, Miss White, I'm here to meet your manageress. I believe we knew each other...a long time ago, and if so, I wish to renew our acquaintance."  
"You know Luce?" she drawled. The girl had an unmistakable Cockney accent, and I wondered whether I had actually seen her during the stormy times I spent in the Red Rat. "Why didn't you say so? I'll go get her for you!" She disappeared through a door behind the bar.  
I was overwhelmed. How do I go about setting things aright? What can I possibly say?  
Before I could answer these relentless questions, I was stopped dead in my tracks as I looked into a pair of chocolate eyes that met my startled own. I was instantaneously taken back to another world - a world of smoke and mirrors, of endless vice, of pure opportunity - when a warm, familiar voice shattered my reverie.  
"'Enry?" it whispered. "'Enry Jekyll? Is that really you?"  
I did not stop to think or speak. A weeping Lucy Harris, looking more ravishing than I ever remembered, sought my embrace, and I enfolded her in my trembling arms. 


End file.
